From Your Best Friend
by Dove S. Wesley
Summary: John Laurens was content. He was content with Alexander being in love with Eliza. He was content when Hamilton told him he'd proposed. He was content when they both were to be married (he had pushed marriage onto the lad a few times). He was content with being his Best Man. He was content watching them both, together, helplessly in love. Yes, he was content. But was he satisfied?


Laurens was not one to shy away from whatever dangers life could throw at him. The Revolution? Bring it on. War, guns, blood, the like? An everyday job for this man of South Carolina.

But then came Alexander Hamilton.

A man who, indeed, stripped Laurens of any courage that had clung onto his bones. He might as well have cut out his tongue, he was so speechless every time this man of flaming intelligence spoke. He might as well have chopped him from his waist under, he was down on his knees every time he displayed such a manner of wits. A revolutionary partner. Able to contrast with the only cleverness of Laurens himself.

And he couldn't take on the danger that Hamilton posed onto himself.

Whenever he was around him, he could not fathom anything else. No, he could not. History has its eyes on Hamilton. Laurens had his eyes on Hamilton, and that was good enough for him. The very appearance of such a man made him feel... something. Somewhat of a fluttering in his stomach. Something heating up in the back of his neck. Something that would make his palm itchy and wet.

He knew what this something was. But for now, he was going to ignore it. Couldn't risk the off-chance of being executed now, could he?

And he was content.

* * *

Oh, but what could one do, especially a man just like him - a man, above all things.

Laurens had been merely drinking in the local bar, when Hamilton rushed in immediately. "Jackie! Jackie!"

The soldier smiled into his drink. He always liked it whenever he would call him that small nickname. "What is it now, Alexander?"

"Eliza! I proposed to her! She said yes!" Hamilton clung onto his dear friend for life. A permanent grin was on his face. "Oh, did she seem so helpless, Laurens!"

The soldier's smile disappeared. He set down his pint, and looked his friend in the eyes. Oh, his eyes. A glinting, violet-blue, shining even more with such joyous news upon him. Those eyes made him weak, as if they were weapons - deadliest weapons of the earth, in fact. His whole demeanor just screamed the word happy in his face - radiant, blithe, euphoric, whatever one should call it.

John grinned at his best friend and patted him on his back. "Well done, my boy, you've really got yourself the catch, haven't you?"

Alexander seemed ecstatic. His fingers were still grazing Laurens's skin - and he was so naive to the South Carolinian, shuddering underneath his warm touch. "You are to be my best man, aren't you, Jackie?"

He grabbed the fingers of the to-be-wedded man, and grasped them tightly. As tight as the smile adorning John's face. "Of course, Hamilton. It would be a pleasure."

In his state of bliss, Hamilton thanked his best friend eagerly and dashed away, most likely to tell the news to the whole town, screaming of his joy.

John Laurens couldn't say the same. John Laurens couldn't say he was happy, or radiant, or blithe, or euphoric.

But he remembered it was Hamilton's own happiness, not his, that was of importance.

So he was content.

* * *

Laurens tugged at his collar. He was never one for weddings, of course. He'd had his own God-knows-how-long-ago, and it was to Miss Martha Manning, a girl whose pregnant state made him pity her, and thus, made her his bride. _Wonder what she's doing now._

He cast his gaze over to Alexander, and his wife, Eliza Schuyler - or, he supposed, Eliza Hamilton now. They were both sitting at the honorable table, with many of their friends and family greeting them for their marriage. Hamilton was praising and complimenting the guests, and Eliza was gleaming with admiration for her husband. She seemed like a respectable enough woman - sometimes Hamilton would bring her up in the letters he sent him.

His stare shifted to a lone woman hanging in one spot of the room. Angelica Schuyler. Another illustrious woman, Eliza's sister and Maid of Honor. She often was the one who captured the spotlight in gatherings, dazzling men - the soldiers and the wealthy alike - with her grace, charm, beauty, and above all, wits. But today, she seemed different. There was a sort of dead air hanging around her.

Come to think of it, she seemed like that at the beginning of the wedding too. John remembered her from when he walked her down the aisle. On her face was nothing - not happy, not sad, there was nothing, like a blank piece of parchment. Why was she like that? It was her sister's wedding, was it not? Was there something personal affecting her?

Then her eyes flickered over to the table of Alex and Eliza. Just like that, Laurens knew.

 _Ah, so that's it._

She was like Laurens, as if a sort of kindred spirit. She was madly, deeply in love with Alexander Hamilton. Just like him. And she knew that now, she'd never have a chance with the man.

 _Just like him._

Laurens froze as she caught him staring at her. Her eyes narrowed, before she cleared her throat and wrapped her fingers around her wine glass. Then she was walking, walking, walking towards the center of the ballroom. She threw her head back, and looked at Laurens. _Oh, she's going to make a speech, isn't she?_

Suddenly, a wave of bitterness overwhelmed the young soldier. _I wish I could be able to make a speech. But even so, I wouldn't be able to put it to any good._

That was not true. Laurens knew exactly what he wanted to say. Exactly what he wanted to tell every single person in the wedding.

At the end of a simple speech of good luck and fortune for Alex, he would end it off with something like this:

 _From your lover, John Laurens._

God, he could already tell how the guests would react. A stunned silence would follow his words. Then, naturally, the entire room would erupt into screams. People screaming 'sodomite' and 'faggot' at him. Soldiers shouting, and General Washington would look oh-so very surprised. Eliza would be scandalized, of course, and so would Angelica, probably. Then they would haul him off and he'd be executed the very next day.

But, what would be Alexander's reaction?

Would he also gang up against him, call him such derogatory terms? Or...

Or would he accept him - embrace him - with open, loving arms.

For a second, everything stopped moving, except for the wine glass that twitched in his hand. He caught his reflection against the liquid, glaring back up at him, as if challenging him. _Is it worth it to risk everything for this?_

And, even if it was a fraction of a moment, John Laurens was inclined to say yes. Anything would be worth sacrificing, for his happiness. For his satisfaction.

But then, he remembered. It was not his happiness that was in question. It was Alexander's.

Then Laurens smiled. Of course. It was his wedding night, after all.

 _That's it then. If I were to make a speech, I would merely end it with, 'from your best friend, John Laurens'._

He wasn't entirely satisfied with that sentence.

But, at least he was content.

He cleared his throat and walked to the center of the room. He clapped once, to gain everyone's important attention. He formed a wolfish smile as the glass of wine sloshed in his trembling hand.

"Alright, alright, that's what I'm talking about! Now, everyone, give it up, for the Maid of Honor, Angelica Schuyler!"

* * *

 **OMG this is so bad. I'm so sorry but yeah here you go. I finished this within like an hour, so is that a good enough excuse for poor quality? Is this like the fanfiction form of shitposting? Thanks for reading, my nonexistent fans.**

 **\- Dove S. Wesley**


End file.
